


Standing Alone, Waiting for Dreams

by thegirlwhoknits



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Graduation, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwhoknits/pseuds/thegirlwhoknits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little Steter drabble. Stiles, Scott, and Isaac are graduating. Peter lurks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing Alone, Waiting for Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Meh, this is just something I wrote when I was bored. It didn't really turn out the way I'd hoped, but I figured I'd post it anyway. Pure fluff.

Peter watches from across the street while Stiles nervously adjusts his tie. The suit he’s wearing fits better than the one he wore to the Winter Formal; he thinks Melissa picked it out for him. It skims his lean, muscled body and makes him look like a grown man, not an eighteen-year-old boy barely out of high school.

The sheriff flies out the front door and then instantly ducks back inside, emerging with a camera and his son’s mortarboard.

“C’mon Dad, we’re gonna be late,” Stiles says, hopping into the Jeep and starting the engine.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ready… Oh _crap_ , I forgot the spare batteries!”  There’s a _click_ as Stiles locks the doors before his dad can get out again.

“Melissa will have extras, and _everybody_ will have a camera, stop worrying!”

Peter fades back into the treeline just as Stiles looks in the rearview mirror.

 

The Pack families and Derek occupy a hefty section near the front, technically taking up more seats than they’re allotted by Scott, Stiles, and Isaac’s combined tickets.  Derek had arrived just after they set up the chairs on the lacrosse field and defended their territory as fiercely as he could without showing actual fangs.  Even Deaton is there, practically beaming as he watches his two protégés file in in their maroon robes.

Peter’s eyes are glued to Stiles from his own perch in the lower branch of a tree. He watches him cheer wildly at the end of Lydia’s valedictorian speech, catcall Isaac as he crosses the stage, and whoop with joy as Scott grabs his diploma and waves to his mother.  Finally it’s his turn to climb on the platform. Two years ago, Peter would have bet money on him tripping on his way across the stage, but the intervening years of training and fighting mythological creatures have granted him a modicum of coordination, if not grace.  He grabs his diploma, gives a jaunty salute to the assembly, and hops off the stage into the waiting arms of his Pack.

He’s probably imagining the flick of Stiles’ eyes toward the edge of the trees as he’s caught by his father’s crushing hug.

 

There’s no way Lydia was going to let graduation pass without throwing one of her trademark parties. Her house is packed with teenagers, light, and noise.  Cars line both sides of the street for three solid blocks, giving Peter plenty of cover for his continued lurking.  He’s not even sure why he’s still there, to be honest; Stiles is probably having the time of his life, getting drunk and indulging in that wild flailing he calls dancing.  Maybe even finally losing his virginity, to someone other than a thirty-five-year-old werewolf with nothing better to do than skulk outside a teenager’s party.

He’s just about to head home, disgusted with himself, when the front door opens and a familiar laugh rings out over the lawn. “Naw, man, I’m just gonna get some air, you keep on dancing!”

Stiles’ steps are steady as he walks down the driveway, stopping to lean against his Jeep. His cheeks are flushed, probably from the exertion of dancing; Peter doesn’t smell any alcohol mixed with the familiar scent that wafts towards him.  Shoving his hands in his pockets, Stiles tilts his head back against Roscoe’s hood and heaves a sigh.

“I know you’re there, Peter. You just gonna lurk all night or you gonna come dance with me?”

Peter freezes in the shadow of the car he’s hiding behind. For a moment he considers ignoring the boy, but that would just be childish at this point. Because of course his behavior the rest of the day has been perfectly mature.  He straightens and strolls over as casually as he can manage.

“How come you weren’t sitting with the rest of the Pack at graduation?” Stiles asks without looking at him.

“I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome,” he answers honestly. Stiles has a way of getting him to do that; it’s extremely annoying.

Stiles makes a frustrated noise and turns his head to glare at Peter. “Seriously? You lurked in the shadows through my whole graduation day because you weren’t sure I’d want you there? For a guy who’s usually five steps ahead of everyone else, you’re surprisingly slow on the uptake.”

“It’s your graduation day, Stiles. What place could I possibly have there? It’s a normal, human rite of passage, the first step on your way to a degree, a career in the city somewhere, maybe a white picket fence. Not exactly my scene.” he scoffs.

“Oh my _god._ ” Stiles’ tone of voice is the one usually reserved for Derek when he’s being particularly obtuse about something, and Peter prickles a little at it being used on him. “Have you not been listening to _any_ of the Pack’s plans for after graduation?”

He hadn’t been, actually. For reasons he didn’t care to examine too closely, the thought of two-thirds of the Pack leaving for four years or more was too depressing for him to dwell on.

“None of us are leaving, asshole.  Scott and I are going to BHCC for veterinary science and criminal justice, and Isaac’s got a job at a mechanic shop run by a friend of my dad’s.  You’re an idiot,” he says fondly.  “As if I would leave my favorite creeperwolf. There’s no telling what kind of trouble you’d get up to without me.”

“It _is_ much more fun to get in trouble with you,” Peter admits with a glint in his eye.  Stiles’ answering laugh is a dark rumble.

“That’s more like it,” he grins. “Now, how ‘bout we get out of here and do some real celebrating? I think you owe me a belated birthday present.”

“I’m sure I can come up with something suitable, even on such short notice,” Peter agrees, offering his arm.

“I’m counting on it.” 


End file.
